


Glass Memories

by EscapistAz



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Again, Angst, Infidelity, Kissing, M/M, potential for happy ending afterwards I guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EscapistAz/pseuds/EscapistAz
Summary: John's chair is empty and Sherlock takes issue with it.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 21





	Glass Memories

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic comes from part of a line from a song by Otep called "Milk of Regret."
> 
> Here is a motley playlist of some of the music I listened to while writing this fic: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLI4xW6NBjJdtV91NH7hEKOsIvb-7gs89I

The first week or so after the wedding, Sherlock did his best to avert his eyes whenever he was in the sitting room, lest they happen to fall on John’s-- now permanently-- unoccupied chair. It worked for a little while, but the chair was _there_ and so obtrusively _empty_ that he simply had to do something about it.

He waited until late one Tuesday evening when Mrs. Hudson had gone out. After ransacking the flat, he was dismayed, but not surprised, to discover that he possessed no tools meant to aid in the relocation of furniture. His first instinct afterwards was to phone John, but he quickly eliminated that possibility. 

Finally he strode across the sitting room, tugged open the door to the stairwell, and approached John’s chair. He spent several minutes attempting to drag the chair to the other side of the flat. He was so focused on his task that he jumped when he bumped into someone standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” John asked as Sherlock spun quickly to face him.

As he realised who his visitor was, Sherlock’s expression rapidly changed from surprised to cool and detached. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Sherlock replied, turning to head back into the sitting room.

John peered at his chair for a few seconds before entering the flat through the door that led into the kitchen. He crossed the sitting room to stand in the space that his chair had previously occupied. He folded his arms and studied Sherlock, who was staring intently at his shoes.

“You know what I meant,” said John. “Didn’t you hear me knocking?” he continued when Sherlock didn’t reply.

“Mrs. Hudson is out.”

“I noticed. I do still have a key, you know.”

“Right,” said Sherlock. “Well, I’ve got a busy day lined up, so if you could just leave it on the kitchen table, that’d be great.”

He strode past John to the table where he began rifling through a stack of papers.

“Sherlock--”

“Don’t. Goodbye, John.”

John sighed.

“Okay,” he said. He extricated his key from the key fob, placed it on the kitchen table, and left.

Several long moments passed before Sherlock entered the kitchen and stared down at John’s key. He reached out to trace his fingers over the grooves in the metal. It seemed like only yesterday that Mrs. Hudson had given him the two keys and told him to pass one to John.

“Don’t lose it,” he had said, feigning seriousness.

“I’ll try not to,” John had replied, with a smile. That smile.

He swept the key off of the table with a sharp slide of his hand, turning away as it hit the floor somewhere on the other side of the room. He returned to the sitting room, but settled himself into John’s chair instead of his own.

“John…” he whispered.

  
  


The next morning, Sherlock awoke with a terrible knot in his neck from having fallen asleep curled up in John’s chair. He stood up slowly and made his way into the kitchen to turn the kettle on. As he approached the fridge, he flinched as he trod on something. He lifted his foot to discover that it was John’s key. The full sequence of the previous day’s events returned to his mind, and he cringed.

Several minutes later he sat down in his chair with a cup of tea in one hand and John’s key in the other. He knew he had to phone John. He hadn’t meant to act the way he had. He had to explain to John how hurt he was, and how he couldn’t stand to look at that infernal _empty_ chair anymore.

Sherlock slid the key into his trouser pocket and picked up his mobile.

_ Shit _ , he thought, hanging up as the call went to voicemail.

Mrs. Hudson appeared a few minutes later.

“Sherlock, you’ve got a visitor,” she said. “Perhaps you could move this chair out of the doorway and let him in.”

“It’s alright, Mrs. Hudson,” said John, entering through the kitchen door. 

She didn’t reply, but shook her head and went back downstairs.

“John, I--” Sherlock began as he stood up.

“It’s okay, Sherlock,” said John, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder.

“No. It isn’t. I was awful to you yesterday. I just couldn’t…” He lowered his gaze as his sentence trailed off.

Without another word, he looked up to meet John’s eyes, and very slowly leaned forward to close the distance between their mouths. He froze as John’s hands found his lapels, certain that he was about to be shoved across the room. Instead, John seemed to be trying to pull him closer. Some shard of a memory pricked at the back of his mind, but he pushed it away. 

Sherlock stepped back slightly a moment later, and reached into his pocket. He pressed the key into John’s hand, closed his fingers around it, and let his eyes fall shut as John leaned in to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't go to this fandom anymore, but I thought most of the writing I did for it should at least see the light of day. And hot damn it's just not one of my fics unless there's angst... 
> 
> This fic was written for a dear friend of mine. You know who you are.


End file.
